


Seconds, Thirds, Fourths & Forever's

by MellytheHun



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Bill Denbrough is a Good Friend, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Bisexual Disaster Richie Tozier, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Bisexuality, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Everyone is Gay Except Ben Hanscom, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, High School, Holidays, I love mike, Jealous Eddie, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Mike unfortunately does not go to school with them in this AU, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Richie, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Eddie, Rated T for Trashmouth, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Sassy Stanley Uris, Stanley Uris is a Good Friend, Teen Romance, Teenagers, but actually rated M for grinding and stuff, everyone wants a piece of Richie, he's living, i will repent, oblivious eddie, pls forgive me, the boy needs validation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: Richie’s wearing a big pout on his face, an oversized, emerald colored, cable-knit sweater that reveals a long expanse of his collarbone (his grandmother does not appear to understand men’s sizing, or how small a frame Richie has) that’s frayed a little at the cuff of the sleeves, tight, maroon colored jeans, laced up boots, and a mistletoe.The mistletoe is fake, and is hanging from a spring, so the mistletoe is hovering right over his forehead; atop (but mostly overcome by) Richie’s curls sits a headband with fuzzy reindeer antlers, and at the center, a screwed-in spring, that Richie clearly thought would guarantee him action at school.Eddie minds his business, and sips his soda.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 86
Kudos: 679





	Seconds, Thirds, Fourths & Forever's

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Blessed Yule, and Happy Hanukkah! This is my holiday contribution to the IT fandom, pls enjoy the fluff, and all the Losers kissing Richie lol
> 
> Happy holidays to you all! <3

“What, no takers?” Stan asks with faux pity as Richie comes to sit down at their lunch table.

The Losers move in sync to look at Richie, who plops down with such defeat, even Beverly coos with sympathy.

Richie’s wearing a big pout on his face, an oversized, emerald colored, cable-knit sweater that reveals a long expanse of his collarbone (his grandmother does not appear to understand men’s sizing, or how small a frame Richie has) that’s frayed a little at the cuff of the sleeves, tight, maroon colored jeans, laced up boots, and a mistletoe. 

The mistletoe is fake, and is hanging from a spring, so the mistletoe is hovering right over his forehead; atop (but mostly overcome by) Richie’s curls sits a headband with fuzzy reindeer antlers, and at the center, a screwed-in spring, that Richie clearly thought would guarantee him action at school.

Eddie minds his business, and sips his soda.

“Eh, all cheek-kissers,” Richie complains, resting his chin in his hand, and his elbow on the table as he slides in next to Eddie, “Hallie Wensor, Carly Robbins, Brittany Lebelle, Erin Tan, Sarah Levowitz, then that girl in my Health class whose name I literally never retain no matter how many times she tells me, and Tiffany Gould.”

“Oh, so you have been successful, it sounds like,” Beverly encourages.

“I’m not succeeding, Bev - no one’s taking this golden opportunity to kiss me on the _mouth_ , without a situational obligation to explain _why_ ,” Richie explains to her, looking pathetically sad about it; he slumps further in his seat, staring down at the tabletop, “It would be a win-win scenario; I get instant validation, and gratification, and the person that kisses me doesn’t have to, like, say shit about it, you know? It’s not like this big production, or anything - they can just kiss me, and point to the fuckin’ thing on my head, and be like ‘that’s my reason, now never bring this up again,’ which is like, a dream scenario for me, and I deserve kisses, I’m a good kisser!”

“Are you now?” Stan asks in a tone that clearly demonstrates he doesn’t believe Richie at all.

“I am! I’m, like, a very good kisser!” Richie defends.

Ben doesn’t laugh, but Eddie, Stan, Bill, and Beverly sure do.

Loudly.

“What?!” Richie demands, “Fuck you guys - I’m a good kisser.”

“E-Everyone says th-that,” Bill explains.

“Everyone? Well, someone’s been kissing, and telling!” Richie jokes, “I didn’t realize everyone was talking me up so much.”

“Booooo,” Stan jeers.

“Word play? Seriously?” Eddie complains.

Bill laughs, “oh, c-come on, Richie -”

“I mean, it doesn’t surprise me that Big Bill Denbrough, Literary Magazine editor, and honorable Key Club head truly does know the major consensus of Derry High’s graduating class, but that everyone has reported back to you -”

“Oh my God,” Beverly giggles, letting her head drop into her hand, “Look what you’ve started, Bill.”

“M-Me!?” Bill cries, though he’s smiling.

“- and all with such shining, consistent reviews -”

“Okay, okay, I g-get it,” Bill surrenders, grinning at Richie, “Who were you h-hoping for?”

“Huh?”

“It j-just seems like a specific p-plan, you know?” Bill mentions casually, before biting into his sandwich, “Like you th-thought it out, like you w-want someone in p-p-particular to k-kiss you. So, wh-who’d you have in m-mind?”

All eyes move to Richie, and he is looking very _caught_.

He recovers quickly; Eddie thinks to himself that Richie is very good at staying on his toes, this way. Very improvisational. 

He wonders if Richie did have anyone specific in mind - part of him wants to know, but another part of him really, really doesn’t.

“I - well, I mean, obviously, I’ve been holding out for Stan all day.”

“No.”

“But, Stan, honey -”

“Shut up.”

“They’re so sweet like this,” Beverly comments facetiously to Bill, smiling at the on-coming back and forth that Stan and Richie often find themselves in.

Eddie can’t help but smile too - he loves watching someone else give Richie shit every once in a while, and Stan does it so effortlessly.

“Aw, pretty please, Standrew?”

“No.”

“Babe, I’m dyin’ over here for you -”

“Then die.”

“ _Baby, please try to forgive me_ …”

“Do not.”

The order does not stop Richie from sitting up straighter, and gesticulating broadly, and dramatically in Stan’s direction.

“ _Stay here, don't put out the glow_ …”

“Richie, I swear to God, if you fucking start -”

“ _Hold me now, don't bother -"_

"I will kill you, Richie."

_"- if every minute it makes me weaker, you can save me from the man that I've become -_ ”

“If fucking only -”

" _Oh yeah_ \- _LOOKING BACK ON THE THINGS I’VE DONE_ -”

“RICHIE!”

“ _I WAS TRYNNA BE SOMEONE, I PLAYED MY PART - KEPT YOU IN THE DARK, NOW LET ME SHOW YOUUUU, THE SHAPE OF MY HEART_ -”

“WE ARE IN A PUBLIC PLACE, RICHIE!”

The entire school is so numb to Richie Tozier’s Class Clown Act that almost no one bothers to look their way, even though Richie had started bouncing in his seat at an approximation of dancing, and somehow imitated every boy band member at once; all the Losers but Stan seem to find the loud performance hilarious.

“Stack ‘O Stan, I know I’m but a simple goyim, but my love for you burns brighter, and hotter than any Menorah candles -”

“I’m two seconds from throwing my drink in your face, Richie.”

“I’ve been using flavored chapstick, Stan. This is prime time, over here. You want in on this, I can see it in your eyes -”

Finally breaking, Stan laughs, and throws his head down on his arms, on the table.

“Richie, how do I shut you up?”

“You know there’s only one way.”

“Chloroform-soaked rag over the mouth and nose?”

“Sexy, but no.”

“Shoving something in there?”

“Nice.”

“Like my fist, you idiot -”

“ _Nice_!”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Stan bemoans, laughing more into his elbow, “Richie, you’re insufferable.”

“Is that why I’m not getting kissed for real?” Richie asks the Losers, “I’m insufferable? Cause, like, I can pretend to be charming, or whatever, for a couple hours, if that’ll get me kissed on the mouth.”

“Have you considered that the antlers might be off-putting?” Beverly manages to ask between giggles.

“Could be your ridiculous hair,” Stan points out.

“Or his buck teeth,” Eddie counters.

“Or, like, who he is, fundamentally, as a person,” Stan replies.

“Jesus would not approve of this roasting so close to the Pagan holiday we’ve allotted to commemorate his birth,” Richie declares, getting into a childish, hand-slapping-match with Eddie, “You’re all heathens.”

“That’s fair,” Beverly agrees.

“W-Would a k-kiss really help?”

“It’s all I want for Christmas, Big Bill!” Richie exclaims, with all the puppy-dog-eye he can muster.

“W-Well, I’ll k-kiss you, R-Richie.”

Flushing, Richie laughs him off, and tells him, “Bill, you’re a good, and brave man.”

Abruptly, Bill stands up from his side of the table, and moves around Stan, until he’s standing at the end of the table Richie is perched at. He crosses his arms over his chest, and says, “s-stand up.”

“Wait - what?” Richie asks quietly, smile slipping away, face growing redder.

“I’m g-gonna k-kiss you,” Bill announces.

“Uhm - why?”

“You’re w-wearing mistletoe,” Bill explains lamely, uncrossing his arms long enough to point to the mistletoe in question; he smirks after he’s said it, though, as if he’s pulled a great prank.

Richie looks around the table, as if reaching out for someone to translate what Bill has said, but he doesn’t meet Eddie’s eyes - his back is mostly turned to Eddie, actually. Ben is sitting on Eddie’s other side, so he supposes Richie’s back is actually mostly turned to Ben, but that doesn’t really make him feel any better.

Eddie is beginning to feel nauseous.

“Bill, you can’t kiss me,” Richie says plainly.

“Why n-not?”

“We’re in _Derry_ , dude,” Richie reminds him, leaning forward, toward Bill, “Kissing me is as good as putting you in like, lethal danger.”

“See, you d-didn’t say you d-don’t want a k-kiss, though, R-Richie,” Bill brings to his attention, “F-Fuck Derry. Everyone’s t-told me what a g-good k-kisser you are, I w-wanna see if the r-rumors are tr-true.”

Eddie is definitively nauseous now, and Richie’s face is entirely red.

“I -”

“C-Come on,” Bill encourages, grabbing Richie’s hand, pulling him up to his feet, “It’s almost Christmas, and I w-want a k-kiss.”

Standing there, stunned, Richie doesn’t move an inch closer or further from Bill; his face is aglow, and he’s doing this nervous thing Eddie’s recently noticed is a tic of his - where he rubs his forefinger and thumb together like he’s trying to start a fire.

He’s nervous.

“M-Merry Christmas, Richie,” Bill tells him gently; then he leans in, and kisses Richie, full on the mouth, uncaring who might see.

Head turning to a flame, Eddie tears his wide eyes away, unable to keep watching, but his periphery tells him that Bill reaches up, and holds onto Richie’s shoulders, and that Richie grabs onto Bill’s blue sweater in turn.

Eddie doesn’t see how deep the kiss really goes, but he hears when they’ve pulled apart, because they both huff for breath.

There’s a strained silence, and then Stan asks, “well? Is he any good?”

“Yeah,” Bill answers, laughing, “He’s actually a r-really g-good kisser.”

“You sound surprised! I’m wounded.”

“Do m-mistletoes allow for s-seconds?” Bill asks sweetly.

Eddie whips his head around to see if Bill is joking, but, aside from the handsome smile on his face, and the flattering blush on his cheeks, Bill looks absolutely serious.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’ve had dreams like this before,” Beverly announces, looking deviously pleased.

“No way he’s actually that good,” Stan argues, shaking his head at Bill, “Move aside - I’m going in.”

“Oh my God,” Richie murmurs - that’s all he can get out before Stan is on his feet, hip-checking Bill to the side (who is positively affronted by the gesture), and pulling Richie in by the front of his sweater.

Eddie can’t look away this time; he watches Richie get his proverbial footing back, take Stan’s hands in his own, turn his head, and lick into Stan’s mouth.

Eddie’s heart plummets to his stomach, gets tangled in the knots there, and the kiss stretches on until Stan lets out a sort of airy _moan_ he almost definitely didn’t mean to make, and then he’s moving away, looking alarmed.

“See?” Bill asks Stan, “S-See? He’s good!”

“Where did you learn that?” Stan asks, as if he’s about to ground Richie for knowing how to make out.

“Wh-what? I dunno!” Richie argues, flopping his arms around, “I was bluffing before!”

“You’re full of shit - who’d you learn that from?”

“No one!” Richie insists, “Everything I know about battling it out for tongue dominance, to the horizontal tango I learned from my mom’s trashy romance novels!”

“Oh! That’s good source material! My turn!” Beverly tells everyone, jumping from her seat, and running over to Richie.

“Seriously?”

“If you don’t mind?”

“Are you fucking joking? Marsh, please feel free - you are cleared to get on this ride any old day -”

“Shush, Richie, you’re ruining it,” she scolds him lovingly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Richie tells her obligingly - then he leans in, closes the distance between them, and as soon as Richie moves his tongue into her mouth, Eddie sees her go _weak_ at the knees.

Her knees _buckle_! Beverly Marsh!

It’s absurd!

People in the cafeteria have definitely noticed what’s going on now, and Eddie is anxious, and maybe bloated? His stomach is all knotted up, not feeling good, his chest is tight, and he’s feeling angry too, but he has no idea why, and he has nowhere to direct it, but it might be the anxiety stemming from so many people beginning to look their way, but he’s not sure.

All he knows is that he sort of hates this.

When Beverly pulls away, she licks her lips, and says, “that’s nice - what are you wearing?”

“I dunno, but it’s blackberry flavored.”

“Oh, nice,” she mutters, and then she’s leaning back in, like this is just a normal, everyday make-out session that she has all the time with Richie, and Bill playfully pushes her off.

“Hey, hey - I w-wanted seconds f-first!”

“I was already there!” Beverly argues.

“Well, I was h-here f-first!”

“Are you guys serious right now - _mmph_!” Richie is cut off by Bill swooping in, much more confident than the first time.

His hands go to Richie’s waist, pulling him in close, Richie’s hands clasp over Bill’s, and Stan is quite literally studying the two of them as they turn their heads, accommodating for how deeply they’re moving to kiss.

Bill breaks for a single second, only to tell Richie, “do th-that again - I gotta f-figure out h-how you’re d-doing that,” and then he’s diving back in.

“That’s so unfair! That counts as a third kiss!” Beverly complains to Bill’s uncaring back.

“If seconds are actually allowed, I’m next again, technically,” Stan says mostly to Beverly.

“You didn’t request seconds, Stan, hit the bricks.”

“I have literally known Richie since he wore velcro shoes, okay? It’s my God given right to claim seconds if I want them.”

“So!? Richie and I may not have history, but we have chemistry!” Beverly argues, looking as if she’s about to burst out laughing at any moment.

“No, Richie is a remarkably good kisser, and you are being a Richie-hog.”

“Stan!” Beverly gasps, holding her heart.

“I’m next!” Stan insists, “Ethically speaking, I deserve to be next, I am totally next!”

“That’s not ethical, that’s -”

“Who did he serenade?”

“You yelled at him the whole time!”

“Yes, but it was me, so I go next.”

“Hey! I want in!”

Ben, Beverly, Stan, and Eddie watch as a girl from down the cafeteria comes trotting up to them all.

By the time she’s reached them, Bill is parting ways with Richie, and they’re both flushed - Richie looks sort of drunk, or high, or otherwise somehow compromised, and then he turns to this girl - Brandy Carllisle, and when she kisses him, he keeps it close-mouthed, but holds her by her cheeks as he kisses her soundly, and she’s blushing prettily when she pulls away.

“Merry Christmas!” she tells Richie joyfully, flirtatiously, and then she’s running back to her giggling friends.

“Did Stan kill me for serenading him?” Richie asks, evidently admiring Brandy’s miniskirt as she retreats, “I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven.”

Three more girls line up for Richie before lunch is out, and when people do finally begin filing out, Ben clears his throat, and awkwardly asks Richie if he ‘could try, please.’

Gleeful, Richie grins at him, grabs his face hard, and pushes them together with the same care one might see in a child handling two Barbie dolls.

When Richie deepens his kiss with Ben, Ben grabs onto Richie’s elbows, as if for balance, and it looks like he tries to reciprocate, but he mostly seems to get swept away, and when it ends, he stares wide-eyed at Richie, and says, “wow. That really is incredible.”

“Thanks!” Richie chirps, looking the happiest Eddie has ever seen him.

Stan and Beverly argue the entire way into the flooded halls about who ‘technically,’ gets to kiss Richie next (it quickly sounds less like a moral argument, and more like an issued challenge of whoever can physically get themselves stuck to Richie’s face first).

Once all the Losers are dispersed into their classes, they hear rumors beginning to float around, and report amongst themselves what they hear; some people are saying rude, threatening things about what was seen in the cafeteria, but by and large, people are saying that Richie is ‘an equal opportunist,’ which Eddie can’t help but think Richie said himself.

Someone must have asked him what was going on in the lunch room during fourth period, and he must have given that answer, and it’s being quoted in the halls, and Richie’s Kiss List is adding up into the teens, and by seventh period, Eddie locks himself in the bathroom just to get away from the sights and sounds of other people kissing Richie.

He doesn’t know why he’s so bothered by the growing list, but he really can’t stand it.

As he wracks his brain for a reason he’d be upset about something as asinine as this, he convinces himself that he’s homophobic, and secretly has been for who knows how long, and he must secretly hate Richie for maybe being something other than straight. 

He grips at his fringe, paces the handicap stall, and tries to find where this seed of hatred was planted, but finds nothing in himself even resembling hatred. 

He talks himself down from the anxiety, tells himself there’s only two more periods left in the day - surely he can get through them, then he walks out of the bathroom to find another boy - Tom Forrester - kissing Richie, in full view of a crowded hall.

There are some wolf whistles, and some applause, but there’s also eye-rolls, and mumbled slurs.

Tom draws it out, his arms wrapped around Richie’s neck, and Eddie can see Richie beginning to turn his head dramatically, which he now knows is the sign that Richie’s going to introduce his tongue to the equation, and Eddie panics.

“Richie!”

Tearing himself away, frightened, confused, or shocked, Richie jumps away from Tom, head twisting left and right, trying to see who called for him. 

He doesn’t spot Eddie right away, and so looks apologetically to Tom - he gives Tom a consolation kiss, which is sweet, and cute, and short, and Eddie hates it, and then the warning bell is ringing, and people begin clearing out again, and Richie finally sees Eddie against a row of lockers.

“Eds!” Richie greets, jogging over to him, “What’s goin’ on?”

“I… uhm … can I… ?” 

Maybe Eddie is just feeling left out, he reasons with himself - that does happen for Eddie, with Richie. He gets possessive sometimes, when he feels like Stan is getting more one-on-one time with Richie, or Bill and Richie are fostering too many inside jokes he’s not a part of, or Richie sneaks off with Beverly one too many times to bum cigarettes off her.

Maybe this is like those times too. 

It’s a reasonable assumption.

“What?”

“Well, just - kiss you. For - you know, for Christmas, or whatever,” Eddie mumbles, paranoid that the mostly-empty hall will still pick up on what he’s said, scared that word of this will somehow travel back to his mother.

“Oh,” Richie utters softly, and then he looks away, bites his lower lip, releases it, his hands start doing that tic thing again, and then he says, “Uhm - you don’t have to. I know I made a big deal out of it before, and, well - my day’s turned around. Not that I don’t appreciate it, Eds, but, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“What? So, all the Losers, and everyone in our _school_ can play tonsil hockey with you, but you don’t want a kiss from _me_?!” Eddie exclaims, face getting hot.

“No! What? No! No, no, I just - listen, I know everyone follows what Bill does, and it was nice of him, I just don’t want you to feel pressured, you know? It’s okay.”

“You got the kiss you wanted, didn’t you?” Eddie asks, heart thundering, and aching in his chest.

“What?”

“Bill is usually right about stuff like this, and he said you did this on purpose - you know, the whole mistletoe-on-your-head-thing. That you did it because you wanted a specific person to kiss you. You got the person, didn’t you? That’s why you don’t wanna kiss me.”

“What? Eds, I didn’t -”

“Why am _I_ getting rejected? I didn’t even realize people could get rejected under mistletoe, I thought that was part of the point of it, is that you avoid the-the humiliation of being told no one wants to kiss you,” Eddie rambles, feeling more than a little embarrassed, “What’s so wrong with _me_ , huh? I-I mean, you even kissed Ben!”

“Eds, I swear I don’t -”

The second bell rings, and Eddie realizes they’re very much alone now.

Re-routed, Richie looks around nervously again, and asks, “I… so, do you - just, for real, do you want a kiss? Not out of like pity, or anything? Cause, if you just want one, I’d - I’d like that.”

“I thought the mistletoe was supposed to provide an out for situational explanations,” Eddie reminds him.

Nodding, Richie sighs, and says, “fuck. You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked. Uhm - okay - you - on the cheek, or - ?”

“What!?” Eddie shouts, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Richie!? Kiss me like you kissed Bill!”

“ _Tongue_?!” Richie’s voice cracks; he coughs to clear his throat, and then specifies, “You want me to - you really want me to kiss you like that?”

“Yes!” Eddie challenges him stubbornly.

As though psyching himself up, Richie looks Eddie up and down, nods, and then brings his hands up to cup Eddie’s jaw.

From angry and hurt, to shaking with nerves, all in point two seconds, Eddie’s heart skips a beat, and as Richie leans in, once he’s close enough that their lips are only just touching, he whispers hoarsely, “got my person now.”

“Wha - _mm_!”

Richie’s kiss starts slow, smooth, and warm - he does taste nice, and he smells nice too. He’s wearing a nice cologne, and this close there’s the lingering scent of cigarette smoke on his clothes, and that smell of a chill in the air still clinging to his sweater that just inexplicably smells like December. 

Eddie balls up his hands against Richie’s chest, and stands on his toes to better reach him.

He feels Richie’s thumbs petting back and forth at the turn of his jaw, and then Richie is applying pressure, turning Eddie’s head, and he feels Richie’s full lips part, the hot brand of his tongue touches Eddie’s lower lip, and he gasps, unintentionally making room for Richie.

His fingers curl into the fabric of Richie’s sweater, holding on desperately as his knees start to go weak, and he hears himself moan into Richie’s mouth - there’s something really, really dreamy about the way Richie’s tongue so smoothly moves along his own. 

He’s never kissed anyone like this before - he’s never kissed anyone, actually.

Feeling brave, Eddie unlocks his knuckles (with great effort), spreads his hands, and moves his arms up, locking them around Richie’s neck, pulling Richie further down, and himself further up.

Richie groans against him, and walks them forwards, until Eddie’s back hits the lockers.

The kiss breaks, but then Richie is readjusting their position, leaning in, and kissing him again, again, and again, and Eddie - 

Well, he isn’t protesting.

Rather, he encourages it, pushing up against Richie, and pulling down on Richie to get impossibly closer, gasping, moaning, and kissing Richie back, imitating what Richie does to him, and giving it back until he’s positive that Richie is all but actually growling against him.

Pressing their bodies together, Richie uses his weight, and height to trap Eddie against the wall, groping Eddie’s flanks, and hips, and as soon as they’re pressed together, Eddie feels how hard Richie is against the incline of his hip.

It’s actually only at that moment that Richie’s words from earlier ring with clarity in his head; 

_“Got my person now.”_

Dragging in a breath, heart a thumping rabbit’s foot against his ribcage, Eddie clings to Richie more tightly, and he finally feels better - the anxiety, and anger, and sadness from before is gone, and replaced with something shiny, and new, and dangerously exciting.

Richie was on the hunt for _him_.

Eddie’s unfamiliar with feeling so wanted, but he’s already looking forward to feeling this way more often.

With a little hesitation, Richie rolls his hips gently, experimentally into Eddie’s, and Eddie whines against him, wanting more friction, unwilling to stop kissing Richie long enough to ask for more. 

All that might have mortified him if he weren’t so insanely hard himself.

He lets his hands wander up Richie’s neck, into his hair, and he knocks over the antlers, grabbing hold of the headband as it goes to slide off, and then throwing it over to the side.

“Eds -”

“I’m seconds, thirds, fourths, and forevers, kay?”

Richie pulls away enough to look down into Eddie’s eyes, and Eddie stares bravely back.

“Richie?”

“Yeah - kay. Yeah,” Richie nods back, dumbstruck, “You -?”

“Advanced Drawing and Painting room is empty this period.”

“Are -”

“Yes,” Eddie answers preemptively, tugging on Richie’s sweater until they’re breathing hungrily at each other’s mouths, “Whatever it is - yes.”

Richie pauses, eyes flickering back and forth between Eddie's. He rarely ever looks so serious.

“I really wanted to kiss you…”

Eddie glances up at Richie from under his lashes, and smiles, “yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Everything you hoped for?”

“More than.”

“That’s - that’s good,” Eddie’s heart bumps excitedly, “I wanted to kiss you too.”

“Was it - it’s good?”

“More than,” Eddie replies, laughing.

“Were you jealous? Before? With the other Losers, I mean?”

“I’m _still_ jealous,” Eddie clarifies.

He feels Richie twitch against him, even trapped in his stupidly tight jeans.

“I, uh - I could be into that. Into you being, like, possessive about me.”

“Good, cause I can’t help it,” Eddie confesses, “Now come to the art wing with me.”

“Yessir,” Richie answers dutifully, allowing Eddie to drag him along.

It turns out that no one goes into that room for ninth period either.


End file.
